“Perhaps not. We won’t talk about that any more.... Now, Pidge, I’m keeping these rooms while I’m away. Wouldn’t you—wouldn’t you for me—look after them—look in on them and keep them alive while I’m gone?... It would make me feel like—great, you know.”
X
APRIL BREATHES AGAIN
THREE nights later, when she reached Harrow Street from the factory, Pidge found two letters. One was from John Higgins of The Public Square. This she opened first.
... At the suggestion of Mr. Cobden, just before he left for South Africa, I am offering you a position here as reader of the unsolicited manuscripts. Mr. Cobden hints that you know enough about The Public Square to realize we cannot be lavish in salaries, but think we can at least pay you what you are getting now, to begin with—and the work will be different.
“Oh, Dicky Cobden,” she whispered, alone in the upper room.
She sat in the center of her cot as of old, breathing the sweetness of the release from the factory.... Friendliness like this art of Dicky’s was good.... It made her eyes smart now—the new work. It was easier to take it from him—away. It was a soft cloak that she could nestle in, because he wouldn’t see.... Miss Claes knocked. Pidge read in her eyes that she already knew.
“No one can ever tell you anything.”
“I’m so glad you want it, Pidge. I couldn’t tell him for sure that you’d take it.”
“They really need somebody, don’t they?”
“Mr. Cobden said you wouldn’t be in doubt about that after you got there.”